


This Would Be A First

by InsightfulInsomniac



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Lip takes care of Ron, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, biker!Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsightfulInsomniac/pseuds/InsightfulInsomniac
Summary: Ron's riding his motorcycle through West Virginia when his route is suddenly detoured through a development. When he gets distracted by the cute guy gardening and runs into a pole, how will he react when mystery man takes care of him?





	This Would Be A First

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was again inspired by an imagine your OTP prompt. Also, biker!Ron makes me so happy, so it's inspired by all of those fics too.

"Take a left at Hawthorne Street... the next road has a little bridge..." Ron mutters to himself, and he believes he has a great sense of direction, but this is Huntington, West Virginia, and he feels much more comfortable among the busy streets of Boston. Not to mention that Ron's not quick to trust anyone, and the muddled directions the elderly man gave him at the gas station are his only hope at getting back on the highway.

He swerves his bike easily around the corner of Hawthorne Street, glancing around for other street signs to indicate a near entrance onto the highway, but no such luck. He does approach the left turn he was told to take, however, and is almost feeling better when he notices what most likely indicates his impending doom.

The flashing orange sign with bold black letters practically screaming DETOUR is just the perfect obstacle to take his day from mildly awful to hellish, and Ron nearly wants to throw himself over the bridge that is supposedly getting repaired.

Still, he follows the line of traffic into what appears to be a humble development, full of small homes with neatly trimmed lawns and gardens indicative of daily care, and the first thing that pops into his head is _grandparents_.

He's busy admiring the quaint houses when he notices someone gardening outside of their house, and _holy shit_ , he is _definitely_ not a grandparent. He's probably the most attractive man Ron had ever seen, in a homey, down-to-earth country boy kind of way. He looks soft from years of being well fed, but obviously muscular if his exposed shoulders and arms were of any indication. His light brown hair is trimmed short, as if to stay out of his face in the summer sun.

Ron's eyes unintentionally track the mystery man as he continues to ride down the street, when he suddenly hears a dull _clunk_ and feels a searing pain rush to his nose.

It's then that Ron realizes he's on the ground, his bike laying sideways just a few feet away from him. Thinking he's been in an accident, he tries to stand up to look for the other members of the situation, but a hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice stop him.

"Hey, hey, look at me. That's right, try to focus on my eyes. You hit that pole pretty hard."

_Mystery man. The definitely not-grandparent._

His soft brown eyes are full of worry, his brow creasing in concern as he brushed Ron's hair back from his forehead, his hand coming back bloodied. "You've got a pretty deep gash on your forehead and a bloody nose; it might be broken. Can you tell me your name?"

"Ron Speirs," he replies gruffly, attempting to sit up again. "I promise I don't have a concussion; I've had plenty."

Mystery man chuckles. "Dare I ask how you got them?"

Speirs grins toothily. "You can ask, but it doesn't mean I'll tell you."

"Fair enough. Here, let's get you off the road."

"My bike," Ron protests, and mystery man shakes his head with a smile, helping Ron over to his motorcycle, supporting him as he rolls it safely to mystery man's driveway.

"Alright, Ron. Come inside so I can fix you up. I assume you don't want me to call an ambulance, if running into poles is a common occurrence in your life," the man teases, and Ron finds that he really wants to put a name to that smile.

"Believe it or not, this is a first. I'm usually very good at dodging all sorts of animate and inanimate objects," noting the man's confused looks, he clarifies as he helps him through the front door. "I'm from Boston."

"Ah," the man nods, understanding. "What're you doing all the way down here?"

"Cousin's wedding in Virginia. Just passing through on my way up north."

"So you prefer to take the scenic route?"

Ron shrugs. "I don't mind being alone for a while."

"I could use a day off," the man mutters, almost sadly. When Ron doesn't ask, he looks over his shoulder at him as he rummages through a cabinet. "Mother's sick, so she needs me to take care of the motel. Between her and the business, money's tight and I can't stop working."

"So is this your house?"

"Yes and no. I'm living here while Mother's in the hospital, but I did have my own place before she got sick. I sold it to help pay for the medical bills," mystery man answers, pulling some bandages and ointment out of the cupboard.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ron sympathizes, a rare moment of genuine empathy. "Hey, I still don't know your name."

"Oh, sorry," the man apologizes, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. "Carwood Lipton."

"Okay, Lipton. What are you going to do to my face?" He asks, eyeing the large bottle of hydrogen peroxide Carwood produces and sets on the table next to him.

"Sit down and I'll explain as I go."

The old wooden chair creaks dangerously as Ron obliges him, groaning under the sudden weight. Lipton hurried away to the kitchen behind Ron, coming back with both a wet and dry rag.

"Okay, I'm just going to clear the blood away from your face with this rag," Lipton begins, his touch incredibly gentle. "Then I'll apply hydrogen peroxide to clear out the bacteria, but that'll sting a bit."

"I can take it," Ron replies instinctively, earning a laugh from Carwood.

"I know."

The slight burn of the hydrogen peroxide comes and goes quickly, and soon Lipton is adhering a bandage to his forehead, moving on to inspect his nose. "It doesn't look broken, just strongly bruised. That's good. I'll be right back."

Lipton returns in a few moments with some ice. "Here. Use this."

"Thanks," Speirs mumbles, suddenly a little bashful at all of the attention.

Carwood exhales loudly, plopping down unceremoniously into the seat next to Ron. "So, what happened that you crashed into a pole?"

 _I swerved to avoid hitting a bird_ pops into his mind, but if he's never going to see this guy again, he may as well tell the truth. "I was looking at you."

"Oh," if the blush on Carwood's face does not give it away, the way that he ducks his head with a surprised smile proves that he was definitely not expecting that answer. "I- uh-"

"Look, it's okay. I just thought you were cute doing all of your gardening. I got distracted," Speirs amends, getting a bit tense. "I think I'm able to drive back to my hotel, thanks Carwood."

He moves to get up but a hand on his arm stops him. "No, uh, would you like to stay for coffee? I mean, only if you want."

Lipton's almost pleading look is enough to make him agree immediately. "Sure. Thanks, Carwood."

"Of course, Ron. Anything for the cute bikers who crash into poles for me," Lipton returns with an air of sudden flirtation, and Ron can't help but laugh.

"This sorta deal happen often?"

"Nope," he replies, popping the p. "This would be a first."

**Author's Note:**

> Total fluff and adorableness is all that's Speirton is, honestly.


End file.
